


One Night in Gotham

by RileyC



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), DCU (Movies), Superman Returns (2006), World's Finest (Comics)
Genre: First Date, M/M, Making out in Batmobile, Stakeout
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-03
Updated: 2011-09-03
Packaged: 2017-10-23 09:38:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/248872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RileyC/pseuds/RileyC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a battle with Darkseid, Clark had a last request, since he didn't die Bruce is forced *g* to fulfill it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Night in Gotham

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 5th birthday celebration, for Mithen's prompt: _A stakeout in the Batmobile leads to making out!_

The bat-signal cleaving through Gotham’s night sky, calling to him, Bruce cradled the phone against his ear, saying, “Clark, I’m sorry,” as he picked out the piano notes that opened the secret doorway to the Cave, “but it looks like we’re going to have to take a rain check on tonight.”

“Something’s come up?”

“Afraid so.” Bruce put the phone down, set on speaker, and began getting out of the Armani suit he had finally decided on, after spending almost an hour deciding what to wear tonight. “Look, we’ll talk later, reschedule,” he said as Alfred materialized as if by magic, retrieving clothes and favoring him with a look that managed to convey disapproval even while being utterly inscrutable.

“Oh. Okay. Be careful.”

Halfway into the armor, Bruce frowned at the note of dispirited acceptance in Clark’s voice and refused to let Alfred catch his eye. “We’ll talk,” he repeated, not knowing what else he could say. Clark understood; _Alfred_ understood, damn it! Gotham needed him. Bruce couldn’t ignore that even if it meant hurting Superman’s feelings.

All the same, as he climbed into the Tumbler and set it roaring toward the city, he was thinking Gordon better have a really good reason for calling him out right now.

~*~

 _earlier_

It was ridiculous. Something that never would have happened if that last battle with Darkseid hadn’t been going badly, if Clark hadn’t been injured – fatally, they had both believed, not admitting it, bantering as if that could keep death at bay. If Bruce hadn’t asked if he had a last request; if Clark hadn’t looked at him then, suddenly completely, solemnly serious, saying yes, just one…

 _Bruce hunched over Clark, trying to shield him from the cold, hard rain pounding down. Brushing Clark’s hair out of his eyes, wiping a smear of blood off his cheek, grief starting to rip through Bruce as those eyes, always so brilliantly blue, begin to cloud, all the light starting to leave them. “What, what?” he whispered, hoarse, throat aching. “What do you want, Clark?” he asked as Clark raised a trembling hand, fingers trailing along Bruce’s jaw._

 _Bruce had to lean down, press his ear to Clark’s lips to hear Clark whisper, “To…kiss you…” just as his hand fell away, smacking into the mud._

 _“What?” Bruce sat back to look in his face, Clark’s handsome features set like pale, cold marble, eyes drifting shut, powerful chest heaving with one last breath. “Clark… No no no… Clark!”_

 _The battle raged on all around them -- dark clouds rumbling with thunder, the sky cracking with lightning, pouring down rain that turns into rivulets of muddy, bloody water, their comrades fighting on furiously and falling – but all Bruce could do in that moment was cradle Clark to him, lips pressed to Clark’s, desperately murmuring, “Anything you want, Clark, anything…just stay with me, just stay…”_

 _He hardly registered the clouds parting, Diana descending as if from Mount Olympus, leading the Lanterns. Not until she knelt beside him, holding him, telling him, “He’ll live, Bruce. We will win this day, and Clark will live,” making it a vow, a fierce and sacred oath, and the Goddess of Truth never went back on her word…_

The day had been theirs in the end, and Clark had lived, and remembered things all too clearly for someone who had been mostly dead at the time—

 _“It was the stress of the moment, Clark.”_

 _“You kissed me.”_

 _“It was an attempt at resuscitation.”_

 _“You_ kissed _me.”_

 _“You were dying.”_

 _“Do I_ have _to be dying to get a kiss out of you?”_

 _“Clark…”_

 _They were in the Watchtower’s med unit, everyone else cleared out by then, both of them patched up and resting – Clark soaking up the energy from a couple of sunlamps. Lounging there, practically naked, Clark appeared the very definition of hedonism; a demigod, basking in the sun. Even as Bruce watched, the last of the wounds were healing, fading away. Maybe Bruce should have been envious of that. Instead, all he felt was gratitude; a profound sense that the world had been set right once more._

 _“One date, Bruce, just one date,” Clark said, raising one finger for emphasis. “You go on three or four dates every day anyway.”_

 _Bruce glowered at him. “I do not go on three or four dates every day! Besides…”_

 _“Besides…?”_

 _He sighed, reluctantly admitting, “None of those dates ever matter.”_

 _Just six words, nothing like a declaration, but Clark’s face lit up like Christmas._

 _Then, growing serious, Clark softly asked, “Is that what you’re afraid of, Bruce, that you might like it?”_

 _Well of course that was it, Bruce thought, glowering at him some more._

 _What if he liked it? What if one date wasn’t enough? He’d go overboard; showering Clark with flowers and gifts, whisking him off for dinner in Paris, and going down on one knee smack in the middle of The Daily Planet bullpen to propose._

 _On the other hand, he had to admit it wasn’t the worst scenario he’d ever imagined._

 _“Clark, I don’t do things by halves.”_

 _Affectionate teasing warming his smile, Clark said, “Gee, Bruce, you know I’ve never noticed that about you.” He stretched out his arm, beckoning._

 _Bruce sighed again and caught hold of Clark’s hand. Even with his fingers laced with Clark’s, he couldn’t stop worrying at the prospect looming before them, though. “What if it’s a disaster?”_

 _“Bruce, the worst it can be is that two old friends had dinner together and didn’t kiss each other goodnight when it was over.”_

 _Bruce was inclined to think the worst might be something more than that – but he wanted to believe Clark’s version…_

Working out the logistics of this date had quickly grown into an obsession. When Alfred had dryly observed, _“I wonder they pulled off D-Day with only a few maps and stick pins, sir,”_ Bruce had realized he was already going over the top with everything.

 _“Renting an island’s too much?” He’d thought a tropical getaway might make a refreshing setting with winter slow to depart even though it was nearly April._

 _“Perhaps for the third date, sir.”_

 _“It’s Superman, Alfred; I can’t just take him to…to IHoP!”_

 _Although clearly highly amused at the picture that conjured up, Alfred had been completely serious as he said, “Master Bruce, I would venture to say that Mister Kent would be quite content to sit on a park bench with you and share a box of chicken nuggets.”_

 _“Chicken nuggets, Alfred?”_

 _“Merely an example, sir.”_

 _Bruce sighed and deleted the spread sheet he’d made. “So you’re saying I_ should _take him to IhoP?”_

 _“I am saying, Master Bruce, that sometimes the most dazzling thing one can do is also the least complicated.”_

 _Bruce turned that over, examining the concept for flaws and finding none. “Alfred,” he called out as the older man turned to leave the library, “where did my parents go on their first date?”_

 _“Your father took your mother to Venice for Carnival, having hired a famous opera tenor to pose as their gondolier,” Alfred said, taking his leave. Pausing at the door, he turned back to add, “She married him anyway.”_

 _Nodding, smiling, Bruce said, “Thank you, Alfred. That will be all.”_

 _“Very good, sir.”_

 _At least Alfred hadn’t outright advised him to_ Keep It Simple, Stupid…

~*~

 _right now_

With Falcone and Maroni out of the picture, Intergang had decided the time was ripe to ooze across the bay and start infiltrating Gotham’s waters. A meeting of crime families had been called to explore that potential tonight, down at a waterfront warehouse.

Such was the information Jim Gordon had acquired at any rate.

“Your sources are reliable?” Batman asked, a note of something almost like impatience coloring the deep, rumbling voice.

“As much as possible, in the circumstances.” Starting to grow faintly annoyed himself, Jim said, “Look, I’m sorry there’s not a mass breakout at Arkham or psychopathic mayhem in the streets, but this is important.” It wasn’t as if standing up here while an icy sprinkle of rain started up was his idea of the perfect evening.

Batman stared at him, almost as if somewhat taken aback at his outburst. “I never said this wasn’t important,” he said. “I just…”

“What?” Jim prodded. “You just – what?”

If he hadn’t known it was too absurd to be possible, Jim would have sworn Batman rolled his eyes at him.

“I had … plans,” Batman said, and it was a close call whether Jim found it more astonishing that Batman actually answered him, or that Batman had weekend plans just like all the rest of them.

“I’m supposed to be at my daughter’s ballet recital,” he said in reply, not entirely sure if he was simply sharing information or silently telling him, _Well join the club, bub._

“Go to the recital,” Batman said, readying a grapple, “I’ve got this covered.”

“I’ll come by later to relieve you,” Jim said, but he was already talking to the air – Batman had vanished into the night.

~*~

Landing near the dark underpass where he’d left the Tumbler, Bruce stilled, listening as something rustled faintly in the darkness, slowly emerging into the feeble light cast by a lone streetlamp.

Bruce exhaled a sharp breath, slipping a batarang back into his utility belt.

“What are you doing here?”

Clark shrugged with a kind of charming grace, somehow looking more like Superman in that moment, even though the cape and tights were nowhere to be seen. Actually he was wearing a rather nicely cut, charcoal pinstriped suit that didn’t look as if it had come off the rack at Bob’s Big-and-Tall shop. Bruce had known, in the abstract, that Clark was looking forward to their date, but seeing the proof of that in how carefully Clark had dressed for the evening (he was even wearing French cuffs, with the pearl cufflinks Bruce had given him last Christmas), wanting to look good for Bruce, gave him a sharp, unexpected pang.

“We had a date,” Clark said simply.

“We’ll reschedule,” Bruce said, meaning it – hoping he sounded like he meant it. “This stakeout’s going to take some time tonight, though.”

Perking up, Clark said, “Stakeout? I don’t do a lot of those.”

Almost inaudible, Bruce grumbled, “No kidding.”

Eyes narrowed at him, Clark said, “I heard that.”

One corner of his mouth quirking, Bruce said, “You’re not doing this one. I work alone.”

Hands in his pockets, those ridiculous glasses he didn’t even need sliding down his nose, Clark said, “Except when you don’t.”

Bruce stared back at him. “I work alone in Gotham.”

“Except when you don’t.”

This time Bruce narrowed his eyes. Even without heat vision to back it up, that tended to be effective with most people. Most people who weren’t Clark.

“Look, go to the Manor, wait for me there. I’ll join you later. We’ll make plans.”

“We have plans, for right now.”

Grumbling in his throat, Bruce said, “Joining me for a stakeout isn’t a date.”

Clark shrugged again. “It sounds exactly like the kind of date we’d have, actually.” He stepped closer, completely serious now. “I want to spend time with you. The backdrop doesn’t matter.”

Meeting determined blue eyes, Bruce sighed, breath misting in the chill air. He gestured to the Tumbler. “Well, get out of the rain,” he said, watching Clark’s face light up.

Clark slid into the passenger seat, looking around at everything with wide eyes and sounding ten years old as he said, “Hey, wow, I get to ride in the Batmobile!”

Getting in on the driver’s side, Bruce gave him a hard look. “It’s called the Tumbler, not the Batmobile.”

“Batmobile’s catchier.”

Starting the vehicle, Bruce shot him another look, suspecting he was in for a very long night.

~*~

“Is it always this boring?”

Bruce sighed again, hands gripping the steering column a little tighter. “You wanted to come along. And yes, it is always this boring until something happens.”

Lowering his glasses and peering intently through the windshield, Clark said, “They’re passing around coffee and donuts now.”

“What kind of donuts?” Bruce asked, stomach rumbling wistfully. If their date had gone off as planned, he and Clark would have finished dinner by now and be enjoying their own coffee and dessert.

Clark checked again. “It’s an assortment, crullers and jelly and everything. Bruno Mannheim’s having a chocolate donut with pink frosting and sprinkles.”

Bruce thinned his lips out to keep from smiling.

“So,” Clark sat back, adjusting his glasses, “will you admit I can bring certain useful abilities to the table when it comes to stakeouts?”

“Useful, yes,” Bruce said, “but I can’t rely on your x-ray vision and superhearing.”

“You could if we teamed up.”

“We do team up.”

“We could team up more,” Clark said, a hopeful note in his voice.

“As what – the Caped Crusaders, the Dynamic Duo?”

Thoughtfully considering those, Clark shook his head. “Something more elegant, premium quality.”

Bruce snorted. “Yes, because we’re the world’s finest.”

Clark looked at him, head slightly tilted. “World’s Finest,” he said, as if savoring the sound. “Has a ring to it.” He waggled his eyebrows for emphasis.

“Stop that.”

“Why? Afraid I’ll make the Batman laugh?” Clark asked, smiling, expression slowly transforming into something else, that same solemn, rapt look he’d worn on the battlefield.

Making him laugh was the least of it, Bruce thought, momentarily lost in that gaze, and wondered which one of them had moved because Clark was much closer now. Close enough Bruce could easily slide off those preposterous glasses and get the full impact of those eyes, like no blue on Earth.

“This is inappropriate,” he whispered, laying his hand along Clark’s face, wanting to take off the gauntlets so he could really feel him.

“Shocking even,” Clark agreed, cupping Bruce’s chin, thumb rubbing slowly along his bottom lip.

Parting his lips, Bruce caught that thumb, flicked his tongue against it – watched Clark’s eye go wide, mouth shaping into a sudden, gasping O. He had to kiss that mouth. Had to kiss that mouth like he had to breathe.

The quarters were cramped, the cowl made it awkward, but they managed. They managed, making out like they were teenagers and discovering how exciting a kiss was; the slow, tentative brush of lips, growing bolder, quickly becoming greedy, famished for the feel, the taste of each other. He rumpled Clark’s pretty suit, too eager, struggling to be careful as he undid the tie and fumbled with buttons, needing to drag off the gauntlets to unfasten shirt and vest without tearing – to slide his hand under the cloth and absorb, treasure the smooth, hard warmth of Clark.

“You’re not wearing the costume,” he murmured, palm curved over a swell of pectoral muscle, a nipple growing hard and pebbling as he rubbed.

Biting his lip against a moan, Clark said, “I thought…” He seemed to lose his train of thought as Bruce’s fingers plucked at the sensitive bud.

“…that you might get lucky tonight?” Bruce finished for him, watching his face flush with embarrassment, with excitement. The combination was unbelievably charming, and if Bruce hadn’t been there already, he would have fallen for him then and there.

“Maybe,” Clark admitted shyly, running his hands over the cowl. “Can I…?”

Bruce nodded, holding absolutely still as Clark dragged the cowl off and sat there looking at him, reaching over to run his fingers through Bruce’s hair, not appearing to mind that it had been smooshed down under the cowl for a few hours now.

“I love seeing you like this,” Clark said, both hands cupped along Bruce’s face, his touch so very careful. “It’s like seeing everything you are, all at once.”

Feeling his own face burning at that intense scrutiny, at the feeling behind it, Bruce tried to duck away it. Clark wouldn’t let him. Tender but relentless, he held Bruce there, leaning close to plant soft kisses all along his face – his forehead, an eyebrow, the tip of his nose, making his smile, making him feel … beloved.

“Clark, I’m…” _Not worthy of this, not sure I can do this._ He didn’t get the chance to speak the words. Clark stole them away with a kiss, long and languorous, and clearly stating he wasn’t going to fall for any attempt Bruce made to chase him off.

“We were supposed to have dinner,” he said, breathless as Clark let him up for air – not letting go, though; holding him, one hand buried in Bruce’s hair as Clark nuzzled his temple. “We were supposed to drink champagne and go for a walk in the rain. There were _plans_ , damn it.”

Clark was laughing, blue eyes sparkling with it as he drew back to look at Bruce. “You’re a nut.”

Making a wry face, Bruce said, “But you love me anyway?”

Stroking a finger along Bruce’s cheek, completely serious, Clark said, “Absolutely,” and went in for another kiss. “I want to touch you so much,” he murmured against Bruce’s ear, running a hand down over the armor.

“Soon, I promise,” Bruce whispered between kisses, everything growing heated and charged as they fumbled and wrestled for more, kissing as if the fate of the universe depended upon their kisses.

~*~

Jim Gordon got out of his car, turning up the collar of his raincoat and hunching his shoulders against the cold as he walked along, looking for the Tumbler. Taking off his glasses, he scrubbed at the lenses, squinting through them, spotting a squat, dark shape just up ahead that looked about right.

Headed that way, Jim’s steps slowed, expression growing puzzled, concerned. What was going on? he wondered, taking in the steamed up windows, the faint sounds of thumps and grunts coming from inside. A swift glance around showed no threat, everything dark and quiet for the night, but you just never knew in Gotham these days.

“Batman?” Jim called out, knocking on the roof of the vehicle. “Batman!” He knocked a little harder. “Are you all right?”

Silence from the vehicle then, and Jim stepped back, eyeing all the shadows again.

Seconds ticked by, Jim’s tension stretching, then the driver’s side door of the Tumbler swung up and Batman climbed out.

“What is it?” Batman said, sounding hoarse – and a little out of breath?

“Ah,” it was all Jim could do not to duck down and sneak a look inside the Tumbler, some instinct convinced there was a third party present, “I said I’d come by to relieve you.”

“Oh.” Batman stared at him, blinked. “Yes. All right.”

 _All right?_ Something was definitely off here, Jim decided. “Has there been any trouble?”

“No, no, everything’s been quiet,” Batman said, casting a covert look back at the Tumbler – not so stealthy Jim could miss it, though. “The meeting went as you suspected,” Batman was going on, “Intergang wanting in on the action here.”

“Well, at least we know to be ready.” Jim nodded to himself, glad of the confirmation. “You got inside?” he asked, looking at the warehouse, seeing no trace of broken windows, no signs of a struggle to account for Batman being so--

 _“Oof!”_

The choked off sound had come from inside the Tumbler.

Jim looked at it, then Batman, then back again.

Batman seemed fascinated with a flickering street light that suddenly popped and went out.

“Are you in any danger?” Jim asked.

“Not even remotely,” Batman answered.

“Well.”

Jim hunched his shoulders a little higher as the rain began to fall again. “Well,” he said again, “I suppose we should both call it a night.”

Batman nodded his agreement, said, “Good night,” and climbed back inside the Tumbler.

“Good night,” Jim said, watching the vehicle speed away.

He stood there another moment, pondering – _That had been a male voice, hadn’t it? Learn something new every day_. – before heading back to his car, deciding the only thing that mattered was that Batman wasn’t as alone as Jim had often worried he might be.

~*~

  


  
_later_   


Propped up on an elbow and watching Clark stretched out beside him, looking content and smug and satisfied, Bruce asked, “How do you feel about tropical getaways?”

“Tropical getaways?”

“Umm. Palm trees and sandy beaches, no clothes, and all that sort of thing,” Bruce said, drawing lazy circles on Clark’s stomach.

“I think I’m probably very much in favor of tropical getaways.”

Bruce nodded, settling down beside him, pillowing his head on Clark’s chest and listening to his heartbeat. “Good to know.”

Fingers that could crush diamonds like they were peanut shells combed drowsily through his hair. “Did you have something in mind?”

“Maybe. Keep your schedule open.”

“Bossy much?”

“I did give you fair warning.” And although he knew Clark was teasing, Bruce raised up to look at him. “If you want out, Clark—“

“Not a chance,” Clark kissed away the twinge of worry, drawing Bruce back down.

The kiss deepened, bodies shifting and surging against each other. They knew each other’s bodies now. Anxious fingers, lips, and tongues had savored every taste and texture. Clark had lingered over every scar, his kisses like a benediction. Bruce had marveled at the restrained power surrounding him, powerful thighs trembling as they clasped around him.

As they moved together again, he found that far from dulling it, familiarity only seasoned their desire.

He couldn’t recall there ever being a better feast.

~*~

 _later still_

Stifling a yawn as he went into the kitchen, Alfred blinked bleary eyes and reached for the blue sticky note left on the refrigerator.

  
_We’ll have a guest for breakfast, Alfred._

 _Waffles would be nice._

 _B._

 _P.S. His suit needs pressing._

“My work is never done,” he said, not at all sounding like he was complaining about that, and started assembling the ingredients.


End file.
